


I'm Not the Only One

by micehell



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, TOKIO
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Some angst, a little kinky as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gussan doesn't like to play games.  It doesn't mean he won't.</p>
<p>(quasi-warning: There's nothing in this that's not consensual (though there is a hint that something might have happened before, though as I had several ideas what that might be, you certainly don't have to read it that way), but, yeah, still a little kinky/warped, so the delicate type should definitely stay away.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not the Only One

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case the one line doesn't make it apparent, this is before _Message_ , so say about 2000 as the time frame. And just so you know where this kind of came from, it's from looking at [this picture](http://pics.livejournal.com/micehell/pic/001k6bkh/) more times than is healthy. *snork*

If he were a psychologist, Tatsuya would probably say it stems out of the fact that so much of his life is a game. Playing like he doesn’t mind the subtly snide questions they sometimes get, or pretending that he really is excited about talking to their latest guest. Acting like he’s happy every time the camera’s on and that his life had no greater problem than never having hit number one on the chart. Playing like he really does love the girls who chase after him, who all but smear themselves against him, soft curves and belief that he is exactly who (only who) they see on their TV, perfectly encapsulated for them.

But Tatsuya’s not a psychologist and no one could truly fit into the small box that their shows and their interviews frame, so all he says is, “I don’t like games.”

Joshima, shy even when alcohol clouds his judgment, always just nods at that and plays along, like he doesn’t know full well that what they do together is in itself a game; quiet and almost desperate, tied together by work and years and something that could maybe have been love in another time, but is only enough here and now for stolen moments when the box feels too small for either of them.

“I don’t like games.”

Taichi, who’s never been shy, who always likes games, just smiles at him when he says it. They’ve long grown out of anything but snark and friendship and the odd, rare touch, nights after a live, when they’ve passed their sixth drink but are still awake long after the others have passed out.

“No games.”

And Mabo just shrugs, never all that serious in the first place, _Anii_ on his lips and always easy in his mind, Tatsuya a place to go for comfort and safety when he gets tired of the box he’s made for himself.

“Nagase,” Tatsuya starts, but he never has to say anything else before Nagase just grabs him and fucks him into the mattress, or sinks to his knees and smiles his way down Tatsuya’s dick, happy and open and so _Nagase_ that Tatsuya sometimes forgets that no one, not even someone who wears their thoughts on their face and their heart everywhere, can live entirely inside the pretty box they’re tied to.

“Nagase,” he remembers when the box bends and bows, and even though it never breaks, what’s underneath peeks up around the edges; light and dark, whole and damaged. It’s no more (no less) real than everything else, but they all guard it closely from eyes who don’t know it’s there.

“I don’t like games,” Tatsuya whispers to the man spread under him.

He wants to mean it even then, even with Nagase’s hair spilling out like a silk shadow over the red sheet beneath them, his eyes half-closed with memories none of them ever talk about anymore and his lips trembling when he sighs out, "Make me. _Make me_ ," little more than breath and need that puffs against Tatsuya's ear.

Of all the games Tatsuya hates, he hates this one the most. He could wish Nagase had never once asked for it. He could wish that he’d never once (always) given in.

But most of all he could wish it doesn’t feel so good to hold Nagase down even as he struggles to get away, long legs scrabbling under Tatsuya’s, thin chest heaving as he cries out at the hard hold on his wrists, at the sharp pain as Tatsuya pushes his way in. He could wish it doesn’t feel so good when Nagase moans and bucks up, trying to get free, only to moan again when Tatsuya slams in, _hardhardhard_ , hips pistoning as he tries to get deeper, as he breaks through the last piece of resistance and Nagase’s liquid under him, liquid between them, soft and pliant, long legs now wrapping around his waist, tight ass squeezing around his dick until it’s Tatsuya that’s crying out, pleasure and pain and sweat and tears and Nagase like a dream he could drown in.

He could wish it wouldn't ever happen again. He never does.

/story


End file.
